


come whatever, i'll be yours all along

by mygalfriday (BrinneyFriday)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 19:00:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5345015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrinneyFriday/pseuds/mygalfriday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Have we met before? Well, no matter – that makes things easier. Or perhaps not depending on our last encounter.” Without waiting for a reply, River reaches for the gun strapped to her thigh and levels it right in his face, smiling serenely. “Don’t make any sudden moves, Scottish Eyebrows. I’m going to need you to marry me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	come whatever, i'll be yours all along

**Author's Note:**

> Based on Christmas Special promo trailers and interviews and pics. Will undoubtedly be nothing like the Christmas Special but I needed to write something.
> 
> Story title from Sweetest Devotion by Adele.

No matter how it starts, it always ends the same way – with him grief-stricken and alone, hiding away in his TARDIS to lick his wounds in the solitude he deserves for fashioning another innocent, lion-hearted human into a disfigured version of himself. He doesn’t retreat into the clouds like he had when he lost River but the Doctor feels older and wearier than ever before and this time, he thinks retirement might just stick.

 

He’s started getting dressed again instead of wandering the TARDIS in a dressing gown, his gray mop of curls an unkempt mess, but he still doesn’t go anywhere. He roams the halls of his ship aimlessly, tinkers with things that probably shouldn’t be tinkered with, and he reads. He reads more than he eats or sleeps or even breathes. It’s his only means of escape.

 

Going somewhere is out of the question. Hundreds of coordinates spill through his mind any time he contemplates the TARDIS controls and of course there are countless places he could go. He could dine with Marie Antoinette or find the lost colony of Roanoke. He could roam the desert and help Moses lead the Jews out of Egypt. He could go anywhere. Do anything. But he would be going alone. It makes the appeal of any adventure decidedly less.

 

So he stays and he reads.

 

He’s in the middle of House of Leaves – out of sheer stubbornness because the TARDIS keeps trying to foist off that Dickens holiday tripe A Christmas Carol on him every time he opens a drawer or reaches for tea in the cupboard and this book was the farthest from holiday cheer he could manage – when the console beeps. He glances up from the page with disinterest, expecting to see the Old Girl flashing a picture of Tiny bloody Tim across the screen at him or something equally smug and infuriating.

 

Instead, the scanner blinks at him steadily, flashing the red light that usually signifies a distress call. The Doctor scowls and snaps his book shut, heaving himself out of his chair. Once upon a time, he might have ignored it. Retirement is retirement after all and someone somewhere is always going to need something. He can’t always be there. But he’d promised Clara. If he can help, he will. Doesn’t mean he’ll do it with a smile on his face but well, this body isn’t inclined to the urge anyway.

 

Tossing his book onto his vacated chair and ignoring the Old Girl’s happy hum, the Doctor approaches the scanner and stares at the readings.

 

**_S.O.S 45X710///7284//_ **

 

He frowns and taps the screen, squinting. They’re certainly coordinates but they can’t be the right ones or the ship would be crashing right around the corner. And he’d have heard the engines screaming by now, even from inside the TARDIS. With a harassed sigh, he pushes away from the console and stalks out of his ship and into the snow. He stands there, breath clouding the night air, and listens.

 

Nothing.

 

He thinks briefly of turning around and marching back into the TARDIS but curiosity has killed many a Time Lord and he finds himself abandoning the Old Girl to search out the signal, sonic sunglasses perched on his nose to help him trace the ship to its source. It’s close. Very close. If it were any closer he’d bloody well be standing in it.

 

He rounds the corner, fiddling with the settings on his sunglasses, and smacks right into someone. His glasses drop into the snow. He raises his head to grumble a half-hearted apology and his hearts stop. It’s been over a thousand years – a billion if he wants to get technical about it – but she looks exactly as he remembers her. Her hair wild and her eyes fire-bright, her small hands more capable and more tender than anyone but him knows. His throat closes up and strangles any clever greeting he might have been able to formulate. All he can do is stare at her and wonder if he’s seeing things again. He thought he’d dropped that particular habit with his last regeneration but perhaps it has only lain dormant, waiting for him to need her again.

 

Oblivious to his emotional upheaval, River drops her hand from the gun at her hip, signaling to the dark-haired fellow dressed all in black who lurks behind her like some sort of bodyguard. He taps a button on his communicator and in the snow, the Doctor’s sunglasses stop beeping, the signal lost. River eyes the Doctor for a moment, her face strangely blank and her lips pursed. “Not really my type.”

 

He blinks at her. “Oi!”

 

She ignores him. “Bit older than my usual and the eyebrows seem permanently angry. But I rather like the accent.” The fellow behind her snorts, eyeing the Doctor with thinly concealed disdain. The Doctor bites back the urge to glower at him since it would involve removing his gaze from River and he doubts he’ll be willing to do that any time within the next century. She nods once. “He’ll do, I suppose.”

 

“Lovely to see you again too,” he says dryly, feeling a bit insulted at her lack of enthusiasm.

 

River frowns at him. “Have we met before? Well, no matter – that makes things easier. Or perhaps not depending on our last encounter.” Without waiting for a response, she reaches for the gun strapped to her thigh and levels it right in his face, smiling serenely. “Don’t make any sudden moves, Scottish Eyebrows. I’m going to need you to marry me.”

 

He sputters, glaring down the barrel of her weapon. “We’re already married!”

 

She grins at him. “Oh, I do like them eager.”

 

“But -”

 

“Here’s the story, granddad,” she interrupts, her gun still in his face. He considers batting it away but he doesn’t fancy being shot. He also considers just telling her who he is since she apparently doesn’t recognize him but if she doesn’t know this face, perhaps it’s for a reason. He stays silent. “Nardole here has somewhere else to be and I’ve got to him there but it’s illegal for an unmarried woman to travel alone with a male companion in this arse-backwards quadrant, as I’m sure you’re aware.”

 

He hadn’t been, actually, but it’s certainly all starting to make sense. For some reason, instead of immediately agreeing to marrying his wife all over again, he finds himself glancing at the brown-eyed, scruffy young man at her back and asking grumpily, “And why can’t you just marry Nardole?”

 

River stares at him like he’s an idiot and it’s so familiar it makes him want to grin. “It’s against Nardole’s religion to marry. Now are you going to help me get the king’s men off my trail willingly or am I going to have to use the handcuffs?”

 

The Doctor meets her unwavering gaze with a smug, “Why not both?”

 

And that’s how he finds himself standing in the snow on Christmas Eve, watching his dearly beloved and previously dearly departed walk toward him in a fur-lined red cloak, Nardole trailing along at her side like he’s giving her away. Even while part of him is quietly miffed that River is willing to marry a complete stranger out of mere convenience, another part of him can’t help feeling rather chuffed that she’d chosen him – even without knowing who he is. The thought of marrying her outside of their backwards, time-twisted relationship, when she’s chosen him without predestination dictating a damn thing, thrills his old, weary hearts.

 

A wide grin threatens to take over his whole face as she stops in front of him and pulls back the hood of her heavy cloak, like a bride lifting her veil. Snowflakes catch in her curls and he’s about to marry – again – the woman he thought he’d said goodbye to for the last time. Sometimes, the universe entirely restores his faith in it.

 

River raises an eyebrow at his flummoxed expression. “Not getting cold feet, are you?” She glances slyly at the snow-covered ground. “Metaphorically, I mean.”

 

It takes a moment but he manages to stutter out, “Would it matter if I was?”

 

“Not really,” she admits, wrinkling her nose in that way that always used to make his hearts flutter. He’s at once relieved and irritated to discover that hasn’t changed. “But I do prefer my grooms willing if I can help it.”

 

He scowls. “Just how many grooms have you had?”

 

He half expects her to utter _spoilers_ but she only purses her lips and watches him with gleaming eyes. When she speaks, her voice is a soft murmur he doubts she wanted him to hear. “Only one that counted.”

 

Nardole is apparently qualified to perform a quick version of the ceremony – why is it always the quick version with her? – and he performs the task with much reluctance, still eyeing the Doctor like he isn’t nearly good enough. Since the Doctor can’t help but agree, he doesn’t mind much. He even grins at the fellow when he grudgingly offers the Doctor the simple, gold band to slide onto River’s finger.

 

His breath catches when River takes his hand, staring in confusion at the ring already there. When she glances up at him, he shrugs and admits, “Widower.”

 

For a moment, she looks so affected by the admission that the Doctor wants to take it back but she blinks away tears and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

 

And then she drags him in by the collar of his jacket and kisses him. The Doctor sinks into it like the span of a thousand years between their last kiss and this one was nothing more than the blink of an eye. He remembers the moment her lips touch his exactly where to put his hands and how close to tug her in to him, exactly the right way to stroke his tongue along hers and make her knees wobble. He grins smugly against her lips when he feels her sway into him, tightening his grip on her hair and keeping her close. She still tastes like Gallifrey.

 

Drunk on her, the Doctor nips at her bottom lip and River finally pulls away with a gasp, her eyes wide. She stumbles back a step in the snow, still gripping his jacket as if to keep him upright. Which is ridiculous – he’s perfectly fine, she’s the one spinning around like that, all bright and blurring together.

 

Oh. 

 

The Doctor licks his lips and tastes the drug on his tongue.

 

One day, he’ll learn this particular lesson.

 

River murmurs another apology, still sounding breathless, and Nardole catches him when his knees give out.

 

-

 

His head is pounding when he wakes but the Doctor has been under the influence of River’s lipstick often enough to know it’s only a temporary side effect. It’ll wear off by the time he gets his bearings. Speaking of which – he cracks open one eye and realizes Nardole must have dragged him because they aren’t out in the snow any longer. They’re on a ship. Nardole sits in the corner, apparently on guard, and still glaring at him mistrustfully. River stands at the controls, a sonic screwdriver clutched in her hand.

 

The sight of it brings a flood of unwelcome memories and the Doctor grits his teeth, working hard to push them away. He knows exactly when he gave her the bloody thing but he can’t help hoping he’s wrong somehow. That she’d stolen it from younger him and she’s still centuries away from her miserable sodding fate. Slowly, he raises himself up from the nest of blankets someone had made for him on the floor. His limbs are stiff and his head still aches and there are a thousand questions on his tongue but the one that spills out is, “Where did you get that?”

 

River pauses, either at the sound of his voice or the question. “About time. I was beginning to think you ingested too much of my lipstick and I’d killed you.”

 

He remembers his greedy kiss in the snow, River’s hair clutched in his hands, and absolutely refuses to blush. “The flashy stick-”

 

“Screwdriver.”

 

“Putting up cabinets?”

 

She stiffens. “My husband gave it to me,” she says, her back still to him. He watches the way her shoulder tense, entirely at war with the lightness in her voice. “A bit of a goodbye present, I suppose.”

 

He swallows. So it’s true then. This version of his wife is right before the Library. This is River a matter of weeks before her death. “Goodbye?”

 

“He’s dead.” She says it simply, her voice cold and emotionless, but the Doctor knows his wife is anything but that.

 

His breath catches, the ache in his head easing to make room for the sudden knot in his chest. “River…” He stares at her back, the stiff way she holds herself, the way her fingers are white-knuckled around the screwdriver, and knows that while he wants nothing more than to tell her she needn’t mourn him a moment longer, now is not the right time. He clears his throat and does his best to sound annoyed. “You’ve kidnaped me.”

 

“A necessity, I’m afraid.” She tosses her hair and glances over her shoulder to give him a sly grin that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Couldn’t risk you legging it after the ceremony.”

 

“Before the honeymoon?” He scoffs. “That’s the best part.”

 

She punches in a command at the controls and hums. “I always thought so. And I’ve had some magnificent feedback.”

 

“I bet you have,” he murmurs, and wonders when this frowning Scottish mouth got quite so good at forming innuendos. “Where are you taking me?”

 

“We,” she gestures between the two of them and the light catches the wedding band on her finger. He smothers his delight admirably. “Are taking Nardole home. As soon as we’re out of this godawful quadrant you’re free to go where you please.”

 

The Doctor leans back against the wall and crosses his arms over his chest, eyeing her with lazy reproach. “I couldn’t possibly leave my new bride.”

 

Offering him a withering glance, River turns back to the controls. “Don’t go getting any ideas, Eyebrows. You’re hardly my first convenient husband and I doubt you’ll be the last.”

 

The Doctor scowls at this new bit of information and climbs to his feet, stalking across the floor to peer over her shoulder. “You’re flying it wrong.”

 

River grits her teeth. “I’m flying it perfectly. What would you know about it anyway, granddad?”

 

“A fine way to talk to your new husband,” he grumbles, elbowing her out of the way. “And I know more than you – I’ve lived longer.”

 

She snorts at him. “I sincerely doubt that.”

 

The Doctor waggles his brows at her, leaning over her to press a button on the console. “I’m even older than I look.”

 

River smacks his hand away and he curses, frowning when she presses the button again and undoes his adjustments. “Those are the ship’s stabilizers. Unless you’d like us to veer wildly off course, don’t touch them.”

 

“And what’s a good trip without a little adventure?” He protests, still eyeing the button longingly.

 

“There’s adventure and then there’s idiocy,” River mutters. “My husband was particularly fond of the latter. You two would have gotten on like a house on fire.”

 

“Love a good idiot,” the Doctor nods, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. “And so do you, apparently. You’ve married two.”

 

“You do remind me of him. But he was much prettier.” She turns to him with a glare, ignoring his outraged bristling. “Don’t touch the button.”

 

“Yes, dear.”

 

In the corner, Nardole rolls his eyes but River stares at him like he’d slapped her. For a moment, he can’t understand why – he always calls her that. And then he remembers. He’s dead. And as far as River knows, she’s hearing the words her husband had said come out of a stranger’s mouth. He recoils with regret, eyes darting guiltily away from her.

 

“I-”

 

He has no idea what he’d been about to say, how to possibly make up for his slip, and he never gets the chance to find out. The ship jolts suddenly, like they’ve crashed into a wall at high speed, and even River stumbles. He reaches out for her and she latches onto his hand without thought, allowing him to steady her as he clings to the ship’s console with his other hand.

 

In an instant, Nardole is behind her like a bloody shadow. “Hydrofax.”

 

River nods, scrambling for the controls as the ship shudders and shakes around them. The Doctor grits his teeth and hangs on. “What the hell is a Hydrofax?”

 

“No one,” River says airily, half of her concentration still on steadying their transport. “Just a king who happens to be chasing us across the galaxy with his giant space robot.”

 

The Doctor gapes at her. “Why the hell is it still following you? We got married!”

 

“Yes, well, this is a different king.”

 

River slams a hand against a lever and yanks hard. The ship swerves to the left sharply and the Doctor swears under his breath. “How many people are chasing you?”

 

She laughs brightly. “Today?”

 

Still clinging to the console, his teeth rattling from all the damn shaking about, the Doctor stares at his wife’s breathless grin and glittering eyes, the competent way she maneuvers the ship’s controls, and falls just a bit more in love. If it’s even possible. She’s already got both of his sodding hearts in her wee strong hands.

 

Shaking himself from his stupor when Nardole stumbles into him and wedges him between his heavy, muscular body body and the console – the Doctor isn’t entirely sure the vindictive arse didn’t do it on purpose – he wheezes out, “Put up a shield!”

 

“I had a shield up,” River shouts back. “Fat lot of good it did us!”

 

“A bit like the stabilizers right now!”

 

She throws him a glare.

 

Another jolt nudges Nardole into shoving the Doctor further into the console and he grimaces, feeling his ribs creak under the pressure. “Now,” he wheezes, “would be the time to be incredibly impressive and clever!”

 

“I’m always incredibly impressive and clever,” she snaps, growling when she stumbles again. “Your turn!”

 

“Oh, now you want my help!”

 

“John!”

 

It’s the first time she’s called him by the false name he’d given her since he told it to her. She apparently prefers Scottish Eyebrows but the Doctor is still clinging to the hope that _sweetie_ will slip out. The pet name belongs to him alone but he can’t decide if he could be cross with her for giving it to a stranger or not – not when the stranger happens to be him. Whatever name she calls him, River snapping at him in that _do something now_ voice has him jumping to attention like no time has passed since their last adventure at all.

 

“Does this thing have a cloaking mechanism?”

 

River lights up, whirling from him and practically draping herself over the console to reach the right controls. Nardole pushes away from the Doctor to hover behind her and the Doctor sags against the console, drawing in greedy lungfuls of air. River slams her hand down on the last button with a triumphant grin and almost instantly, the teeth-jarring shaking stops.

 

The sudden silence is almost deafening and the Doctor struggles to catch his breath, watching Nardole finally step away from River, looking relieved. River barely notices, far too busy piloting them further away from the giant robot and the king who is undoubtedly searching the empty air for any sign of them. He knows they’re safe when he sees her finally relax.

 

“That’s better.” She shakes her curls out of her face and winks at him. “Perhaps you’re more than just angry eyebrows after all.”

 

He resists the urge to preen. “Going to thank me properly, wife?”

 

Her smile dims at that but she says teasingly, “For what? I did all the work.”

 

“Honeymoon’s over already then?” He tsks, making sure she notices his disappointed frown. “Pity. You haven’t even seen what this body can do.”

 

When she clears her throat and breaks eye contact, he’s pleased to notice her hands tremble when she places them back at the controls. Nardole goes back to glaring at him. The Doctor smiles anyway.

 

-

 

The ship is bigger than some small continents, stretching the entire length of the station. It’s bustling with every species from humans to Silurian to androids. Some of them carry only a small bag as they board but others drag one piece of luggage after the other. Each person is halted at the gates, thoroughly searched, and forced to hand over their identification and their tickets to the heavily armed guards stationed at each post.

 

“A star liner,” the Doctor mutters with distaste. “Hardly better than a bloody cruise ship. I thought we were taking him home.”

 

“The star liner is taking him home,” River replies, peering around him to stare at the ship with narrowed eyes. She looks like she’s plotting and the Doctor inwardly sighs, lending himself to the inevitability of running for his life. Nardole looks quietly resigned to the same fate. “We’ve just got to get him aboard.”

 

“And let me guess,” he says dryly, eyeing her. “We haven’t got a sodding ticket among us.”

 

“What would be the fun in getting aboard legally?” River winks at him and he absolutely refuses to acknowledge the pathetic little lurch his hearts give. He tightens his jaw and glares at her. River pats his arm. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll protect you from the big baddies.”

 

“What big baddies?”

 

“There just so happens to be a bit of a convention happening.”

 

Nardole eyes her warily. “What convention?”

 

“Villains Anonymous.” River beams at them. “Isn’t this exciting?”

 

Somehow, the Doctor thinks as he grins back at her and Nardole sighs, he’d forgotten just how much he really loves his ridiculous wife.

 

Well, most of the time anyway, he thinks dourly a few minutes later, watching River apply a thick coat of lipstick and flounce up to the guard posted at the nearest entrance. He looks away when she leans in to snog him, unable to stomach the sight, and meets Nardole’s questioning gaze.

 

“What?” The Doctor glares. “I’m the jealous type.”

 

Nardole snorts.

 

“Not a man of many words, are you?”

 

“It’s better than being a babbling old man with a crush.”

 

The Doctor blinks at him in startled amusement.

 

Nardole looks smug. “I pay attention.”

 

“To be fair, I doubt I’ve been terribly subtle.”

 

Nardole glances over his shoulder, where River is systematically snogging the daylights out of every single guard in her path. The Doctor grimaces and looks away again. “I’ve been with Professor Song for months. She’s saved my life and I will protect hers with my last breath.”

 

“Is there a point to this, Nardole?”

 

“She won’t love you.”

 

“She married me.”

 

“For convenience.” Nardole sighs. “She may very well let you into her bed for the same reason. But she won’t love you.”

 

The Doctor bristles. “I think you underestimate me, Nardole.”

 

“And I think you underestimate the depth of her losses, _John_.” Nardole eyes him like he can see right through him and the Doctor fights the urge to shift uneasily on his feet, staring balefully back at him. “Do not push her or you will regret it.”

 

Frowning, the Doctor looks away and watches as River releases the last guard and strolls toward them, looking triumphant. “I don’t think River Song needs you to be her knight in shining armor.”

 

Nardole smirks. “It is not me who will make you regret it. It’s her.”

 

“Fair enough,” the Doctor mutters, forcing a grin as River finally reaches them.

 

“Coast is clear, boys.”

 

“Work up a sweat, did you?” The Doctor asks, arching a brow at her.

 

River threads her arm through his and tilts her head to smirk up at him. “Jealousy is a terrible color on you, Eyebrows.”

 

Nardole scratches at his beard, looking torn. “I suppose this is where we part ways.”

 

“Don’t be silly.” River reaches out a hand to pat his arm. “I insist on seeing you off properly – including a goodbye dinner onboard.”

 

Nardole frowns. “But the ship is leaving. How will you -”

 

River holds up her hand, brandishing the vortex manipulator strapped to her wrist. That hadn’t been there before. At the Doctor’s stern glance, River shrugs. “What? It’s not as if the guard needs it. And he was happy to hand it over to the Captain’s wife.”

 

“I suppose that makes me the Captain?”

 

She offers him a coy glance. “What makes you think you’re my only husband?”

 

The Doctor scowls. “I don’t share.”

 

“Hmm.” River tugs on his arm and guides him along toward the ship, her lips pursed. “Prepare to be disappointed.”

 

Loping along beside them, Nardole glances over the top of River’s head to give the Doctor a knowing look. _I told you so_.

 

The Doctor clasps his hand over River’s on his arm and huffs.

 

-

 

An hour later, River leads them into the vast dining room in the center of the star liner wearing the dress she’d nicked from some poor woman’s quarters. She looks sodding well stunning, her red dress clinging to her curves and glittering in the light as she moves. The Doctor doesn’t bother pretending he isn’t staring. River has always enjoyed his attentions and he’s happy to see that hasn’t changed, watching her bite her lip against a smile every time she glances at him and finds him all but gaping.

 

“Dance with me.”

 

She pauses, champagne flute halfway to her mouth, and stares at him. “Sorry?”

 

“We haven’t had our newlywed dance yet,” he reasons, standing from his chair and offering her a hand. “I always dance at weddings.”

 

Something in her eyes flickers at his words and he knows she’s thinking of him – other him, younger, clumsier him with the bright grin and the puppy eyes and the hands that always wanted to touch. It’s different in this body with most everyone else but he finds the thought of pulling his wife into his arms on the dance floor still makes his hearts race with anticipation.

 

“Alright,” she says quietly, exchanging a wordless glance with Nardole. She sets aside her champagne and rises to her feet, taking his proffered hand. “It would be a shame not to show off this dress, after all.”

 

“A bloody crime,” the Doctor agrees, pleased when River looks away with a smile.

 

The dance floor is already flooded with couples, most of them probably trying to escape the other half of the dining room currently occupied by Villains Anonymous members. One table in particular is crowded with Sontarans competing in arm wrestling competitions. The Doctor tunes out the noise, drawing River out onto the middle of the floor and into his arms.

 

For such an abominable flirt, she’s certainly been keeping her distance since the ceremony. He wonders idly if he’d scared her off with his too-eager kiss but it’s difficult to regret it. It had been a thousand years since he’d kissed his wife, since he’d held her. River would’ve understood if she only knew. The Doctor presses his face into her hair and wishes once again that he could just tell her.

 

After they’ve said goodbye to Nardole, he’ll try.

 

For now, he breathes in the scent of her and shuts his eyes. River sweeps her palm up the length of his back, her warm fingers coming to rest at the nape of his neck. She hums along to the tune that plays and he feels a smile curl the edges of his mouth. He turns his head, letting his cheek brush softly against hers, relishing the way her breath catches and the hum of her voice stalls in her throat.

 

“You look fucking amazing,” he murmurs, his eyes trailing along the line of her jaw. He watches in mute fascination as her throat flexes when she swallows. “Have I mentioned that yet?”

 

“No, you haven’t,” she replies, and he takes great pride in the unsteady wobble in her voice. “But the staring was compliment enough.”

 

“I take my husbandly duty very seriously.”

 

River forces a smile, letting him twirl her around the dance floor. She always led their dances before but then, his last body’s ungainly legs had needed her gentle guidance. He likes to this body is a bit more graceful, more grownup, more prepared to handle a woman like River Song. Or perhaps it’s just the eyebrows making him overconfident.

 

“And what duty is that?”

 

“Ogling my wife.” He lifts his head and meets her amused gaze with his own. Their faces are closer than he’d realized and when his nose brushes her, he can feel the heat of her breath against his lips.

 

Barely breathing, River murmurs, “Dedicated, are you?”

 

He nods, eyes darting from hers to her mouth and back. “It’s a tough job but someone’s got to do it.”

 

And then he’s leaning in, a breath from kissing his wife again, and River breaks away suddenly, slipping from his grasp. “I’m sorry, I can’t -” She shakes her head, clenching her trembling hands into fists. “I need some air. Excuse me.”

 

Standing alone in the middle of the dance floor, his fingertips still tingling from the feel of River’s beaded dress sliding against them over the warm curve of her hips, the Doctor watches River make her way through the crowded room and out onto the balcony overlook. Perhaps he should have tried telling her who he is first.

 

He moves to turn away, to go back to their table and endure more of Nardole’s smugness and give River the time she needs, but a bulbous head catches his eye at the last moment and he stills. A lone Sontaran has broken away from the arm-wrestling competition, slinking along the wall toward the balcony. Toward River. Knowing his wife’s unfortunate history with the Sontarans, he can’t in good conscience walk away now. He might need to save the poor creature from her.

 

With a growl, the Doctor stalks off toward the balcony and the confrontation undoubtedly about to take place. “Can’t take her bloody anywhere,” he grumbles, pushing his way past dancing androids and Cheetah people to reach her.

 

He’s nearly caught up with the potato in armor when he realizes the damn thing has a blaster clutched in his lumpy fist and River hasn’t even noticed its approach. She’s gripping the balcony railing and gazing out at the stars, her eyes clouded and far away. It’s unlike her not to be aware of her surroundings every moment and the Doctor picks up his pace worriedly, automatically reaching for his sonic sunglasses. He freezes the moment his fingers find an empty pocket, remembering he’d dropped the glasses in the snow. In the excitement of seeing River again, he’d forgotten to pick them back up.

 

Well. Nothing for it then.

 

Cursing, he shoves a Slitheen out of his way and lunges the last few steps with a shout of, “River!”

 

She whirls around, already tensed and reaching for the knife no doubt secreted away in her dress, but the Doctor has already slammed himself into the oversized lumpy vegetable and hit the ground with him hard. The weapon skitters out of his hand and across the floor, coming to rest right at River’s feet. Wide-eyed, River stoops to pick it up, still brandishing her own weapon.

 

The Doctor rolls off the Sontaran, panting a little, and snaps, “Bit late for that, isn’t it? Fucking pay attention next time!”

 

Her eyes narrow into slits but River otherwise refuses to acknowledge him, training her hardened gaze on the Sontaran struggling to his feet with a wheeze. “You will pay for your atrocities against the Sontaran empire, _Song_ -”

 

“Possibly,” River agrees, leveling his own weapon at the glowering lump. “But not today, Potato. Now bugger off before I get hungry and decide to roast you and slather you in butter like I’ve done your comrades. There’s a good boy.”

 

With one last vengeful glare, the Sontaran stalks off muttering, “Your life mate won’t be around to protect you next time.”

 

River rolls her eyes and turns to set the blaster on the railing beside her, tucking her knife away and dusting off her hands. “Well,” she says with a sigh. “I suppose that will do for the theatre portion of the evening -”

 

“Don’t,” he snaps, climbing to his feet. River turns to stare at him but his hands are still shaking and his jaw is so tight he can hear his teeth grinding together. “It’s not funny, River. A bloody overgrown vegetable with a gun almost killed you because you weren’t paying attention!”

 

“How dare you.” Her hand twitches at her side like if he happened to be just a bit closer, he’d have an imprint of her palm on his cheek. The Doctor takes in her wide, furious gaze and colorless cheeks, a heavy, sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “I don’t know what kind of marriage you think this is, old man, but it isn’t a real one.”

 

The Doctor flinches.

 

“It’s a _farce_. A convenient ruse. I don’t need some grumpy Scottish granddad with angry eyebrows ordering me about like he has any bloody right!” Her cheeks are flushed now and her eyes are bright with her indignation and the Doctor stares, entirely enthralled by her. “And I realize we’ve only just met but let me clear something up for you, Eyebrows – I’m hardly some damsel in distress that needs rescuing!”

 

“Of course you’re not,” he snarls, forcing his gaze away from her because Christ, how is he supposed to think clearly when the sight of River angry never fails to make his bloody boil in the most delicious of ways. “But you weren’t looking! What was I supposed to do, let him shoot you?”

 

“Yes!”

 

He grits his teeth. It’s been centuries since Manhattan but the idea of letting River suffer sits as well with him now as it had then. “That’s a load of bollocks and you’re sodding well insane if you think -”

 

“And finally, he gets it.” River gives him a cool smile he hasn’t seen since her university days, when feral Mels still had a tight hold on his wife. The only difference now is he knows it’s an act. “Sorry to tell you, husband, but you’ve married a psychopath. I’ve been beaten and brainwashed and left for dead and still gotten up again. I’ve lived in the most notorious prison in the known universe and escaped whenever I felt like an ice cream cone. I’ve been to a planet where I couldn’t even trust my own shadow -”

 

His breath catches painfully. He gapes at her, swaying in place where he stands.

 

“And I’ve saved myself from a lifetime of being nothing but a line of data code in a little girl’s mind.” River gazes at him, furiously blinking tears from her eyes, even the curls of her hair quivering with emotion. “And I’ve done every sodding bit of it without any help. I certainly don’t need it now.”

 

The knowledge slams into the Doctor with the force of a good kick up the backside. River isn’t before the Library at all. She’s after it.

 

His eyes sting immediately but he doesn’t try to blink away the sheen of tears, staring at her like he’s never seen her before. His brilliant wife, standing there in a stolen dress like some kind of beautiful dream – the kind he never even had the courage to think about. It would have hurt his hearts too much to hope for something so wonderful. But she’d done it. River Song, always there with a miracle when he’s finally sure the universe has run out of them.

 

The Doctor staggers toward her numbly and hands that always hesitate before touching anyone do not even pause before taking her face in between his palms. River doesn’t protest, caught in his gaze, and he relishes her soft gasp of surprise before he closes the distance between them and crushes his mouth to hers. He kisses her with need and with fury and the last bit of love he hadn’t relinquished in the vain attempt to protect his hearts from the loss of her. He finally kisses her with everything. And for a moment, River lets him. She clings to the front of his coat and fights back with tongue and teeth and all the ferocity of a woman who never learned how to love by halves.

 

And then she breaks away with a whimper, relinquishing her hold on him to take a step back. They’re both breathing hard, their cheeks flushed and their eyes glittering. River presses her fingertips to her mouth and shuts her eyes. “Don’t.” It’s all she says before she turns on her heel and stalks away.

 

He doesn’t follow her right away, taking a moment to compose himself and stop the damnable tremor in his hands and in his hearts. By the time he makes it back to their table, River won’t even look at him and he spends the entirety of their meal avoiding Nardole’s curious glances.

 

-

 

River hugs Nardole goodbye and the Doctor watches as the young man buries his face in her shoulder and murmurs something quiet to her. River stiffens but nods, pulling back to pat his cheek and offer a thin smile. She steps away and without looking at the Doctor – she hasn’t looked at him once since he kissed her – she takes his hand and opens her vortex manipulator.

 

“Where to?”

 

The Doctor exchanges one last nod with Nardole and then looks at his wife, something warm and fond nestling between his hearts as he watches her studiously avoid his gaze. “Dropping me off, are you?”

 

She nods once, her eyes trained resolutely on her manipulator. “I promised I would.”

 

Stroking his thumb over her knuckles and ignoring her flinch, the Doctor sighs. “It’s time for a beginning, I think. But I need to say goodbye first.”

 

When they materialize in the graveyard, the Doctor barely notices River dropping his hand and stepping away. A headstone has caught his eye and the moment he sees the name, there is a lump in his throat. He swallows thickly around it and walks forward, kneeling in front of the grave. His fingers trace over the name etched into stone – _Clara_ – and he bites back an angry growl. He is so fucking tired of standing over their graves.

 

“Your wife…” River’s voice is quiet and reverent, hushed in this sacred place. “Tell me about her.”

 

The swelling anger drains from him just as quickly as it had come and the Doctor bows his head, feeling a soft smile tug at his mouth. He has lost so many. But it turns out he hasn’t lost her. “Clever,” he says, wondering if there’s even enough time to count the ways in which he loves River Song. “Amazing. Kind and bloody infuriating-”

 

“Beautiful?”

 

The smile stretches across his face now and he glances over his shoulder to look at her fondly. “Like a forest fire.”

 

River swallows. “I’m sorry. I’m sure she’d appreciate you visiting her grave -”

 

The Doctor blinks. “Oh, you think this is -” He scowls, rising to his feet and turning to face her. “Don’t be stupid. This isn’t my wife’s grave. She doesn’t even have one.”

 

“Well whose grave is -” River frowns, settling a hand on her hip. “Hang on, your wife doesn’t have a grave?”

 

“She never needed one,” he says, eyes darting away from her. “I’ve carried her with me instead.” River watches him, barely breathing, and he forges ahead. “I can always hear her, always see her -” He risks one quick glance at her and finds her pale and frozen, gazing at him in stunned silence. He takes a step forward and River still doesn’t move. Another step and he’s right in front of her, a breath away from touching her. “And it turns out she isn’t dead after all. My wee psychopath saved herself, just like she always does.”

 

He watches with an aching chest as her eyes fill up and relief floods her face.

 

He cups her cheek in his weathered hand, warmed to the very core of him when she leans into the touch, clasping his wrist in her shaking hand. “And her pathetic excuse for a husband has failed her again, just like he always does.”

 

“You didn’t sweetie,” she chokes out, and he quiets her with a kiss. It’s softer this time, less biting but just as full of need and devotion as all the kisses that have come before it. River breaks away too soon and he’s really going to have to talk to her about this bloody frustrating habit but for now, he rests his forehead against hers and breathes. River strokes her fingers over his face and laughs shakily. “How? You didn’t have any regenerations left -”

 

“Long story,” he says, smirking. “I’ve got a whole new set. What do you think, by the way?"

 

"Of what?"

 

He peers at her hopefully. "The new body."

 

“I'll let you know. I've only seen the face.” His eyes darken and River beams, still touching his face with reverent fascination. She bites her lip. “I wanted it to be you. I thought I was seeing what I wanted to see, hearing what I wanted to hear. I thought I was falling in love with someone else and I couldn’t bear it -”

 

He shakes his head and clutches her hips, keeping her close. “I should have told you. I just wanted to see if you -”

 

“Idiot,” she whispers, blinking back tears. “I’ll always choose you.”

 

Their mouths meet again, drawn inexorably together the longer they spend apart, but it’s the Doctor who pulls away first with a grumbling, “You married a complete stranger.”

 

River shakes her head, eyes twinkling. “I married you.”

 

“You didn’t know it was me!”

 

“You’re certainly one to talk.” She raises an eyebrow at him. “Remember Marilyn? Calamity Jane? Princess Diana?”

 

He scowls. “Accidents!”

 

“And all me.”

 

The scowl melts away instantly, a leer he didn’t even know this body was capable of taking its place. Nose brushing hers, he asks, “Can never resist me, can you?”

 

River laughs. “Oh, shut up.”

 

She kisses him again and this time, neither of them pulls away for a very long while.


End file.
